


That You May Be a Terror

by lonerofthepack



Series: To Fall Next Upon Salem, and So Go On [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Do not try this at home kids, Gen, Hurt Newt Scamander, Local man saves magical rhino to impress future husband, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Original Percival Graves, and as usual my formatting is wack sorry folks, gossipy aurors as a stand-in for character development, gratuitous use of endearments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonerofthepack/pseuds/lonerofthepack
Summary: He had not envisioned Scamander’s first Ingredients raid going quite so cock-eyed— foolish, because of course Scamander was going to rush in to try and help an injured creature. The man had little regard for his own safety at the best of times. "Mr. Scamander, I don't want to kill her. I wouldn't have hired you if I wanted to kill magical animals for sport."When Newt's first action with the MACUSA aurors goes slightly awry, the Director steps in.
Relationships: pre-Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Series: To Fall Next Upon Salem, and So Go On [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1340785
Comments: 16
Kudos: 151





	That You May Be a Terror

**Author's Note:**

> Right, Graves was trained in the Commander Samuel Vimes school of Fictional Good Cops Who are Of the People and Kind to Small Animals (and Nobby Nobbs). He interned with Lord Vetinari. In this house we stan fictional cops and politicians only. 
> 
> This may be...vaguely out of character? Idk, something feels weird. I'll probably edit it at some point. Apologies to any New Yorkers offended by semi-phonetic dialogue, it isn't possible to imply the power of f'gedaboutid and its many variations with proper spelling. Bonus points to folks who correctly guess which auror has zero pronouns in any of these fics.

"No, _don't!_ " 

He heard the shout, and turned just in time to watch his department’s shiny new magizoologist _fly_ , thrown well back by the thrashing of a frankly massive animal chained down in a dusty corner — felt the lurch of failure in his belly, hand too slow to do more that jerk ineffectually, magic a heartbeat late to his fingertips as Scamander tumbled into a mess of dusty tarps and half-crates -- and watched too many more wands turn to the beast where it struggled against magicked chains and its own injuries. Felt a second sickening lurch for the creature, chained and helpless under wand.

"Sir?" 

"Please! She's not—" Scamander was speaking, which was better than nothing, but he wasn't getting up quickly, had managed to struggle up to his knees and nearly keeled over again. "Don't—"

"Hold steady,” he called, low and carrying in the gloom of the warehouse. “Weiss, check him. O'Toole, Simmons, stay well back. Wands on, but hold -- unless she gets loose of that mess on her own. Delgato, take three of the others and check upstairs. Be careful on those fucking stairs. No more injuries, any of you."

A soft chorus of 'sirs!' echoed in the abandoned potions lab, dying muffled under the shuffle of their feet and the half protests Scamander was choking out.

"Mister Scamander— no, stay down, you damn fool," he snapped, striding forward as much as his aching knee would allow, the whip of his voice stymying another of the magizoologist’s gangling attempt to force his rebellious legs to work, and following the command with a firm restraining hand to a shoulder. Hopefully the one that Scamander hadn't landed on, but the hold gave Weiss a chance to actually complete the triage spell. He cursed his stiff leg, which might let him kneel beside Scamander, but certainly wouldn't let him up again after.

A shaking hand wrapped around his wrist just above where he held onto Scamander’s shoulder — both sets of their fingers tightened slightly as Scamander’s balance wavered.

"Don't kill her, don't, please she didn't mean to— they're not dangerous normally, please—"

"Mister Scamander, look at me. Look," he demanded, cutting over another plea, and finally got the man's attention, blue eyes darting up and catching at last.

His expression was desperate and blood dripping from where something had nicked his forehead, down over a red splotch on his cheek that was doubtless going to become a truly impressive bruise. Across the way, the beast had already eased from struggling to shudders, too exhausted to sustain panic without being actively bothered. 

He had not envisioned Scamander’s first raid going quite so cock-eyed— foolish, because _of course_ Scamander was going to rush in and help an injured creature. The man had little regard for his own safety at the best of times, he’d been entirely too empathetic even with the inanimate stand-ins they’d run practice drills on. His Aurors knew better than to leave a man uncovered, but that method had spooked beast and beast-tamer alike. 

And he was going to have to request a file transfer from the MOM’s Beast Department to do some international snooping, because whatever policy it was that put this sort of terror in a man like Scamander, it was something to avoid.

"Mr. Scamander, she's contained. She can’t do anything if we don’t get too close— so we won't get too close," he said, and then continued quickly when the fear in Newt Scamander's face didn't ease nearly enough for his liking: "We're not going to hurt her while she's trapped. I'm going to try to see we don't hurt her at all."

"Please, don't kill her. They're so rare already, they’re--the population is near collapse--"

"Mr. Scamander, I don't want to kill her. I wouldn't have hired you if I wanted to kill magical animals for sport. But you have to calm down. In order to help her, I need you to tell me how she can be _kept_ contained and calm. I won't risk another injury, and you're done for the day —no, don’t argue,” he said, recognizing the same mulish look that had graced every one of his best and most troublesome Aurors at some point or another. “You’re done, today. So work with me. I promise, no one wants to kill her."

"I—" he broke off, expression easing from fearful determination to something a bit lost. "You promise?"

"I can't promise you she won't be hurt. I _will_ promise that I will do my best to see she isn't, without letting anyone else be hurt. Will that suffice?" 

"Got it," Weiss muttered, and whistled softly as the spell’s light mists collected around various hurts and went colorful to show their severity. "Damn, Scamander, it takes a solid knock to keep you down. Nothing life threatening, sir, but he should get looked at, and I’ll put a dollar on that arm needing a sling."

"Okay," Scamander agreed, and sort of slumped into the support Weiss offered. "I. Okay."

"Good man. Tell me what you can, now, and then Weiss is taking you to medical. We'll call in an Ilvermorny creatures expert to help you with her after we clear this place out."

A karkadann, Scamander called it--a Persian unicorn. Not to be confused with its African cousin, the Erumpent: though this beast’s horn was just as long and a great deal sharper, bladed like a iron-black scimitar on the upper edge, it didn’t-- _thank Circe_ \--explode. Several thousand pounds heavier than the dainty European unicorn, and plated--sort of like a no-maj rhinoceros he’d seen once in the depressing no-maj zoo in Central Park, though given the white-steel-shine of its hide, what came more readily to mind was the plate armor knights in had once used to protect their war horses.

Apparently it had the same mistrust of adults that its European counterpart was famed for, and had a reputation for chasing off bull elephants in full rut. 

Not normally dangerous, he’d repeated, droll, and gotten a flush of embarrassment from his dazed consultant and some stuttered tips for managing such a beast for the brief few minutes it would take to get her safely sequestered in the magizoologist’s case of wonders. 

Hopefully without being skewered or crushed in the process.

“Alright, lady, let’s get you up.” 

His patronus now was the most immaterial it had ever been since he’d first cast the spell correctly, a lifetime ago— but it firmed up into his usual big cat with the thought of what freedom tasted like; Skele-gro and Medical’s copper-flavored water. The karkadann stirred as a silver puma padded silently around her, occasionally doing a cat’s long body-rub of affection. She lifted her massive head, with that scimitar-sharp horn, to inspect the feline phantasm, and rolled it down again, gouging a furrow in the packed dirt of the floor. There were dozens of them, layered over one another, but they all looked fresh — she was a recent acquisition of this set of fled ingredients dealers, perhaps, since Delgato hadn’t found any other living animals upstairs.

“Hey there, girl,” he murmured, and resigned himself to sounding like an idiot when she stirred, but a bit less restively. Talk to her, Scamander had said. So she knows where you are. “No need to get upset. If you wanted someone else, you ought to have let the fellow with the blue coat close enough. He’s the one who knows how to charm you. Yeah, that’s good,” he praised, soft, and didn’t flinch when she snorted hugely in his direction, doubtless reacting to the careful-constant press of his magic toward her, formless but hopefully enough to acclimate and reassure her.

Let her feel you, Scamander had said--entirely too dizzy to notice half the aurors stifling chuckles into sudden coughing fits, at the way the Director’s eyebrows had arched, the involuntary tilt of his chin in reluctant amusement-- s’the magic they sense, so you send that out first, so it doesn’t surprise her when you bust the cuffs. Don’t, ah, don’t wanna surprise ‘em. 

Go slow — but. Not too slow. Laying… ‘s bad for her, she’s suffocating under her own weight. If she can, she’ll try and stand. That’s a good sign, if she manages, he’d chirped, brightening, and then had frowned a bit as something occurred to his addled brain. Percival had bitten back an instinctive sigh at that expression. You don’t, er. Happen to know much about, ehm. The body language of large herbivores?

No, Mr. Scamander, he’d said on another sigh, and brought a hand up to knead at the tension headache brewing behind his temple. He’d promised Picquery that this was a simple operation — a milk-run, he’d called it. Something easy to see how Scamander pulled with the rest of the team, something quiet enough that he could afford to stretch his own legs without endangering anyone. No, that’s what I keep you around for.

Then you might—um. Keep your patronus out as long as you can. They're...territorial, so, er. Whatever you do, don’t run. Er. Whoever you send. They shouldn’t run.

Got it, he'd agreed, and looked up to look at each of his aurors. Weiss, get him to medical, Thompson, go see what’s holding Delgato up. Can’t do anything with her until we’re finished and the building's clear.

Unless--unless she charges. You should run then. Actually, maybe Apparate. Er. The walls...

Fantastic, he’d said, weary, over the muffled sound of Weiss cussing under-breath. Thank you, Mr. Scamander.

The cuffs were heavy bastards, both physically and magically, laden with wards that kept her down. Dozens of layers of simple wards, stacked up to give them strength. The first set of wards disintegrated as he moved closer, each step careful, balanced. Running wasn’t an option, not with his knee, not today, but even among his senior aurors, holding multiple high level spells was a great deal to ask with no prep time. Having power enough in reserve to cast a strong enough Shield charm for long enough to scramble to safety was an even bigger ask. So he couldn't fall, and he wasn't going to stop. 

This was an extra-curricular sort of project, something that he would ordinarily have left to an Ilvermorny research team with the faint hope that the wait for them to sort themselves out was something the karkadann could survive. And the fainter one, that she wasn't more valuable to their scholars as potions ingredients, that she wouldn't 'accidentally' succumb. 

It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d risk an active-duty Auror for, not without scads of research and several days practice in the gymnasium, not when their rosters were still terribly thin after the unpleasantness over the winter. 

So. He got to do a bit more than lead from the rear, today. He tried not to feel anything in particular about that — a certain amount of judiciously applied denial was integral to coping with restrictions he’d never wanted and chafed under — but it was undeniable there was something in his gut that leapt at the chance to be properly useful.

Even with Grindelwald, even with so few months between standing here and waking up in a hospital bed that he was still washing their flavor of starch from his clothes, he could still fill his usual role on these raids--by some fluke or fluctuation of birth, there was more magic in his bones than any three of his Senior Aurors, and decades of exquisite control played it like a fine-strung fiddle. Where his body frequently failed him in its mobility now, his magic had returned to being mostly reliable after a bit of rest and enough food in his belly. 

Don’t crowd her, Scamander had said. It’ll only make her nervous. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m assured there’s a lovely pasture or something, in here, just waiting for you. Let me get those off you, and there’s as much of whatever it is you eat as you’d like.

The karkadann stirred again, a restless shudder of steely skin and the kick of a leg or two, the spasm of muscles gone tight and useless with unuse. He knew the sensation well enough. 

He took another cautious step forward as his patronus slunk back into her range of sight, and murmured. Her skin felt like sun-warmed steel underhand--she was sufficiently enormous that he didn’t have to kneel to put one hand to her forehead, though she huffed and blew through her nose something fierce at the presumed familiarity. He gripped his wand with the other, still tucked away in his pocket, to start building the beginnings of a ridiculously overpowered Calming Charm, pausing now and then to ease away another layer of wards from the cuffs.

There was a perfect, beautiful window of opportunity he was aiming for, stretching from when the cuffs snapped off and she rolled to her feet to when she charged with every intent of making him mincemeat. The calming charm needed to be complete enough to slide down over her thick armoured head without making her fight it, and Scamander’s case, which he’d left by the door, would be accio’d to hand and open for her to shuffle right into as the charge's momentum fizzled into calm incomprehension. The magizoologist had sworn that there was some mechanism that would deposit her gently in an appropriate space within the traveling case, and no need for anyone not trained for it to go into the case after her.

Then and only then would Percival give a shout for Delgato to come and help him, because it’d be a damned surprise if he managed all this without keeling over.

Another set of the wards melted away. Another layer of no-pain-no-fear built to reflect itself settled into the structure of the charm.

“So,” Delgato muttered around the stub of a cigarette he’d clamped in his teeth. “This just post-hospital stir-crazy, you think, or some kinda courting thing?”

“Don’t you think he’s got enough to worry about without you speculating?” Weiss muttered back, fresh back from dropping Scamander off with medical and antsy with being sent outside like a kid while the Director did his best by the fuck-off big beastie inside, alone. All the senior aurors were, these days, when their Director was out of sight lines and not safely ensconced at his desk. Antsy, that is. 

Nobody had enjoyed shaking off a boatload of low level perception charms to realize that they’d failed, egregiously, or that the Director had paid the price for it. The lucky ones at least had had to be summoned back with _valid_ transfer papers, the ink jagged where his hands had still shook.

“Nah— I figure that should’a been the first sign something was up, that there weren’t any pools goin’ while that bleached fucker was around. You remember the last time there weren’t at least three different pools? Old Ironeyes hadn’t even retired yet, the last time Himself didn’t have a pool of his own, and that was ‘cause Fritzy thought it weren’t right, taking bets on the brass-to-be. That lasted, what, a whole week?”

“You’d know better than I,” Weiss allowed. “Was only just transferred in, then. I was still pretty convinced he was the devil himself, wasn’t gonna waste my pay on whether or not he’d manage to chase any tail that week.”

“Eh, probably saved a lotta greenbacks, honestly. You came on during...what, the mid ‘aughts? Long dry spell, then, was cranky as a bear by ‘06. Ain’t like he’s ever been much for tail-chasing anyhow. But what d’ya think of the odds on Scamander? He’s the Director’s type, ain’t he?”

“Hasn’t got a type,” O’Sullivan grumbled from the doorway he’d tucked into, out of the wind, nursing his own cigarette. Weiss had arrived with him and his rookie in tow, just back from their patrols and more than willing to come baby-sit the Director instead of writing reports, on the off chance they'd all be needed to reinforce the walls if Scamander's fuck-off big beastie started kicking up a fuss.

“Sure does,” Delgato disagreed. “Tall, whip-smart, fuckin’ certifiable? Director likes ‘em crazy as he is. Scamander on all counts.”

“Won’t go for it. Just out of the hospital like that? Fergeddabout it,” O’Sullivan denied. “It’d take a crowbar to pry him from his desk to go home. Ain’t like he’s sleepin’. Ain’t gonna pull anyone when he ain’t sleepin’. ‘S got, uh, hangups ‘bout that.”

“He’s got _standards_ about that, for Merlin's sake,” Weiss grumbled. “AK himself before he risked hurting someone, wouldn’t he. But Scamander’s a bit. Hm. Politically fraught, isn’t he? Brother in the Ministry and all? No good betting on a non-starter.”

“Eh, I’d give it… Say, six months.”

“Nine,” Weiss put in, immediately.

“Hmmm— Christmas.”

“He don’t celebrate Christmas. Er--his ma were from Cork, weren’t she? Old school type, used to have a big t'do on the solstice, sort of.”

“What’s that got to do with him an’ Scamander by Christmas-- _Fuck_ me, that was—”

“Shield charm,” Weiss spat, at the thick wave of magic, and put a shoulder to the warehouse door—

— in time to watch the beast that had tossed Scamander a good ten feet disappear neatly into a battered carrying case, chased by another surge of magic that tasted like bergamot and lightning.

“Oh good,” the Director said as he thumbed the latches closed quite decisively, and staggered most alarmingly as he straightened up. “You’re here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, folks. Kudos make me smile and comments feed updates.


End file.
